


Sweeter Than Candy

by psycholinguist (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, aph all of them, there's a lot of mentioned characters and i don't want to list them all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/psycholinguist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy finds himself alone at a Christmas party. After wandering around, he finds he's not the only one alone. England is moping about, grumbling about America, and drinking away his problems. Uh oh! Can Italy cheer the drunken nation up, or will the festivities be cut short?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweeter Than Candy

**Author's Note:**

> original A/N: A Rare and Underappreciated Ships Hetalia Secret Santa Exchange
> 
> For: chibisupreme  
> From: quidditchfan
> 
> Hope you're enjoying your holidays dear!~
> 
> I hope there weren't too many glaring errors, I couldn't have picked a worse time to be sick if I tried... ah well.  
> Here's hoping you enjoyed it! Happy holidays and I'd love to hear what you thought~

 

* * *

Feliciano was a more than a little bored. Sure, yeah, Mr. America’s big Christmas party was fun; he had eaten a lot, talked with most of the attending nations, and he had caught Kiku and Herakles together under the mistletoe more than once. However, without his best friend Ludwig, the party was a little lonely and somewhat dull.

They had planned to come to the party together. Feli had picked out matching sweaters for the two of them for the annual Ugly Sweater Contest; an imaginative pair of sweaters that made his brother Romano sneer in disdain. Now he was stuck wearing half of a lit up Christmas tree.

Oh well.

So he took to wandering around the loud American’s big house, not finding much entertainment since most were enjoying the party in the main room. He had accidentally walked in on Mr. Austria and Mr. Switzerland in a room together “enjoying” each other’s company. He was promptly chased from the room by the latter and his guns.

Catching his breath, and almost certain Mr. Switzerland had returned to the room he had left Mr. Austria in, Feliciano opened a door to a balcony. The cacophony of sounds from the party was faint now, though festive music was playing softly throughout the house via hidden speakers. The fresh air was a welcome presence to the Italian.

When he found the British, bushy browed and constantly grumpy nation, he had not expected to find him drowning his sorrows in alcohol and half frozen on a bench. In fact, the English nation nearly scared poor Feliciano half to death when he growled at him to “close the damn door and stifle that dratted Christmas music”. Doing as he was told, Feliciano inched closer to the drunken nation cautiously, worried the Brit would bite him or something. The only thing Mr. England did, however, was turn his attention back to the large bottle of amber brown liquor.

“Mr. England… are you alright?” asked the nervous Italian, “aren’t you cold out here?”

“M’fine, juss’ a little chilly,” slurred the Englishman, “nothen a little drink won’ fix”. He brought the bottle to his lips again and took a swig before blinking rapidly in the direction of the shivering man in the ugly themed sweater.

“Would you like some company Mr. England?” Feliciano asked as he rubbed his upper arms, “it’s much too cold to be out here alone.”

“Arthur,” corrected the Brit, “’nd if you wan’ you can sit out here too, Italy”

“Feliciano,” corrected the Italian in the same manner as the British man, “and don’t mind if I do”

He sat down gingerly on the cold wooden bench, produced a pair of candy canes from his sweater’s wide sleeves, and offered one to the inebriated nation. The drunken man dragged his attention from the half bottle of alcohol slowly and eyed the candy warily before accepting it with a surprisingly steady hand. Arthur put the bottle on the floor carefully and unwrapped his sweet before biting down on the peppermint candy rather aggressively. Feliciano noticed he was a bit more sober than he let on but still just as angry.

“Is there something bothering you, Mr. En—ah, Arthur?” asked Feli hesitantly. He hoped he would get some sort of response instead of a growl from the thick browed man next to him. Arthur spared him a tired, bloodshot glance while taking another vicious crunch of the peppermint stick before mumbling a response. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, ve.”

“I said, it’s jus’ America bein’ a tactless idoit as us’al,” grumbled Arthur, “s’if tha’ were anythin’ new…

“C’n you b’lieve that loudmouth thought I wus participatin’ in his ridiculous ‘ugly sweater contest’? M’sweater isn’t ugly. It’s charming…”

Feliciano watched with amusement as Arthur pouted and trailed off into silence. The Englishman was rather cute when he stuck his lip out like that. He sucked on the rest of his candy cane with a sort of thoughtfulness as the Brit continued to chew on his own.

“Yers is rather ‘dorable as well,” continued the now mostly sober nation, the cold air and separation from the large rum bottle noticeably affecting his drunkenness, though he was still slurring his words, “but c’rrect me if’m wrong, yer missing a half there?”

“Ve? Oh yeah, Ludwig was supposed to be my buddy for the sweater contest, but he got tied up at work and now I’m stuck wearing this alone,” sighed Feli. He was still pretty bummed his best friend wasn’t there with him, but talking to England was more enjoyable and less frightening than he thought. He seemed to have struck a nerve, however, because Arthur began to scowl again. Feliciano winced a little and braced himself for a long rant, but Arthur just huffed in annoyance.

“How c’n you say that sweater ‘s ugly?” mumbled Arthur, his mouth full of the remaining candy. He was still slurring slightly, but Feliciano figured he was sober enough to be in front of other people again, “it’s positiv’ly dashin’ and very fesstive.”

“Uh, sure.” said Feliciano attempting to placate the grouchy, tipsy, nation, “Hey, Arthur, aren’t you cold? Wouldn’t you like to come inside now?”

“And go back to be insulted by that yankee arsehole and his cheese-eating surrender-monkey of a boyfriend again? Feh, no thanks,” spat out the now sober nation, “I’d rather sit out here and freeze than tolerate those two for another five minutes.”

Feliciano noticed the English nation was speaking clearer now and commented on it.

“Yes, the cold is doing wonders for my state of sobriety,” remarked Arthur flatly. Feli got the impression that Arthur wasn’t thrilled to be sober again, “and the fact that I’ve not touched the bottle since you gave me that sweet has something to do with it as well.” Arthur eyed the half-empty bottle of brown liquor with temptation in his gaze, but Feliciano interrupted his thoughts with a plaintive “ve”.

“Yes?” asked Arthur.

“It’s just… well, they’re going to be serving the cakes and desserts soon,” explained the Italian mournfully, “and we’re going to miss it! Ve, can’t we go and grab a few pieces of cake and sweet bread and eat them out here?” Feliciano’s eyes were big, pleading, and glassy, and Arthur had to avert his eyes. Damn that boy was good.

“Fine,” said the Brit waspishly, blushing slightly from the effects of the sad puppy dog look he was hit with, “but I’m not doing this for you, you understand? I just want a blanket and some hot chocolate.”

“Yahoo!” cheered the Italian. His cute begging look never failed! He stood up quickly and began pulling his companion to his feet, “Let’s go, let’s go, before the good desserts are gone!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Arthur said impatiently as they neared the door to the balcony, “no need to pull my arm out of it socket. Desserts will still be served, now slow down. I’m losing the little feeling I regained in my fingers. Oh look mistletoe.”

It was just a passing observation, but Feliciano stopped abruptly just as they were under the white-berried greenery and looked up. Indeed, they were both caught under the green and white red bow-tied plant. Feliciano turned slowly to a now flustered looking Arthur who was now regarding his surroundings with intense and feigned interest. He could feel a warm flush on his own face to mirror the brilliant one on the man he was still holding hands with was sporting. He quickly dropped the hand and bit his bottom lip. He’d actually been wanting to kiss the irritable Englishman for a while now, but was caught off guard by the sudden opportunity. Now how should he proceed?

Before he could think about it too hard though, a pair of chapped but surprisingly warm lips met his in a swift and chaste kiss that had him blinking rapidly in surprise. He lifted a hand to touch his lips, his eyes wide with wonder, before grabbing the arm of the now retreating British nation.

“Ve, no fair,” he whispered to the other as he pulled him closer for another kiss, “I wanted to do that first.”

The British man’s eyes widened in astonishment at the—usually cowardly—Italian’s bold move before fluttering shut at the unexpected reciprocation. The kiss felt like ages, though it only lasted a handful of seconds; perhaps it was all the alcohol he had drunk earlier that night, but he felt dizzy and giddy again. That was rather pleasant.

When they both broke for breath, they were both scarlet in the face, and an awkward silence fell upon them. Only when the hidden speakers crackled and America’s loud voice announced the serving of the desserts did they finally look at each other.

“We’d better get moving if you still want to sample everything.”

“Ve, yes, we’d better hurry.”

“Well come on then, hop to.”

“Yes!”

They spoke in awkward staccato voices, and headed off to the main party room in silence, but their hands found each other and they laced their fingers together without a word.

They were in no real hurry to get to the main room anymore; Feliciano found that desserts and sweets could wait. He found something sweeter.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm moving fics from ff to ao3  
> also this is 2 years old, forgive me


End file.
